By the Black Lake
by pseudonimous
Summary: In which Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy discuss not only the topic of love, but how to write about love - while they end up learning a little about each other as well.


For those who know _of _Rose Weasley, they knew she liked to read books.

For those who _know_ Rose Weasley, they knew she loved books, but she also loved to write.

One could be expected to find a certain ginger in the corner of the library on most school evenings, conducting research for her finals in Potions, or catching up on reading for a History of Magic. Like most Hogwarts students, the tudent life revolved around N.E.W.T.S, the exams (and the scores!) needed to prepare each student for their future in the magical community.

On weekends, however, when her long mane of fiery hair was not found in Hogsmeade, drinking Butterbeer amongst the Quidditch members in the Three Broomsticks or searching for new dress robes within the alleys, one could be expected to find Rose on the corner of the Black Lake, writing within an old, leather journal enchanted to appear like a battered version of _Hogwarts: A History_. After all, Hugo would never pick up such a book, not to mention read it!

Upon close observation, she would often glance at the lake, inhale a deep breath – so deep that the observer can see her loose waves rise on her shoulders – and exhale, closing her eyes as she releases her breath. At times, she would roll her head around her shoulders to loosen the knots that grew tighter as final exams grew closer, and begin to write some more.

But lately, a strange incident had started to occur. She could not write. No matter how hard Rose Weasley tried, the words did not come out right, nor the phrases she attempted to craft. It was flowery or dumb, fake like the peals of laughter coming from most of the Slytherin girls in the Hogwarts Common Room. It was prudish or downright obnoxious, like the tone of many Ravenclaws who demanded that the answer they chose was the correct one on the exam. It just wasn't right, and Rose Weasley, in all the sixteen years of her existence (seventeen if you count her days as a fetus within her mother's womb), was a perfectionist.

This writer's block began shortly after she had gotten over her breakup with a Slytherin boy by the name of Nathaniel Park. Breakup was an understatement. It was an understatement, seeing that her heart was ripped from its sleeve, a year of love and friendship thrown down the drain of the Chamber of Secrets, and a loss of identity. She had grew feelings for Nathaniel at fourteen, and only loved him harder at fifteen. She loved him to her heart's despair, and now a year later, she still had not gone on more than a couple of dates, which all inevitably failed, while Nathaniel and Wendy Watson (a Hufflepuff girl who he began dating a month after their breakup) are still going steady.

It seemed as if the entire world was _wrong_, and Rose Weasley hated to be wrong.

The evening sky was dark and cloudy, with a hint of a future drizzle later in the night, so Rose headed to the Black Lake with a parasol in hand, and her wool Gryffindor scarf. Before sitting on her familiar "writing" rock, she heard a splash.

In front of her was a boy, awfully pale (not to mention handsome boy), shirtless, getting out from the water. She couldn't help but awkwardly stare as he stared back at her, and ran a hand through his wet, silver blonde blonde hair. On a Tuesday night, she least expected to see Scorpius Malfoy going for a dip in the Black Lake. Her blush was thankfully disguised by the cold air, which reddened both her cheeks and ears, and she flipped her wavy red hair over her shoulders. She closed her eyes and opened them in the westward direction of the lake, where she always looked before she began to write. Her mind, however, decided to allow her eyes to dance its way to Scorpius' changing form, whose eyes also landed on her figure. Rose felt another blush creeping in.

Her weakness was when strangers looked at her. Her eyes daringly made contact with Scorpius', and from the ten foot distance, she could see that they were a cold blue color. While hers was a blue forget-me-not color (according to her best mates), his was colder than the temperature that evening. She tensed whenever she made eye contact with any person, really. And her body jolted away from Malfoy as soon as she did.

A minute later, Rose collected herself and began scribbling out the blurbs she had written earlier in the week. They were so poorly written, that she couldn't help but cringe at her grammatical mistakes. She heard footsteps towards her and turned to see the pale boy on her left hand side.

She awkwardly put her leather journal down, which, from Scorpius' angle, looked like _Hogwarts: A History._ "Yes..?"

"I was just wondering if I could make the acquaintance of the person who is sitting on my favorite rock," a low, smooth voice radiated to her left ear. Scorpius' expression was on the fine line of a tiny smirk and a smile.

She raised a defined eyebrow, a common habit of her, as if to state _"Oh, really?"_ She decided that it couldn't hurt to be a tad friendly and so she stood up to her slender 5'5 frame and raised her head to look into the eyes of Malfoy, who towered a 5 inches above her.

"I suppose so, Scorpius Malfoy. Rose Weasley," she extended out a hand and he shook it firmly.

Rose and Scorpius were, of course, familiar to each other. They were both Prefects, both scored in the top percentile of their year, and both were children of those who played a large role in the Second Wizarding War. They were both truly aware of each others' presence in Hogwarts, but never had overstepped boundaries in friendships with one another. They would sometimes meet in the same restricted section, searching up books for similar classes. A casual nod would be exchanged between them both, but only in private. In the crowded halls, they brushed past each other like forest fire as they head towards the next class, not wanting to be marked tardy. Albus and Scorpius had been casual friends up until fourth year, where they both found different acquaintances they would rather hang around. And that was the extent of Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy, except of course, the rumors they heard of one another.

Scorpius was generally regarded as a handsome bloke, one who took the fancy of many (silly) girls. Rose, in fifth year, had grown slimmer and had a memorable, cupid shaped face that many boys enjoyed. However, after her breakup with Nathaniel, boys would know, after a couple tries, that the beautiful girl was rather hard to impress and please.

Yet, they remained on the edge of indifference towards one another. As the saying goes, hear no evil, speak no evil.

"Favorite rock, though, are you kidding me?" she gestured towards the rock where her belongings laid.

"No, I am very well not kidding you," Scorpius' smirk-smile, turned more into a shy smile. The two stood there awkwardly for a second as they both attempted at another grasp at conversation.

"Why are you writing in _Hogwarts: A History,_ and a very ancient copy at that?" Scorpius noted as he leaned his head towards Rose's disguised journal.

The question seemed to take her by surprise. "Well…I guess… I write."

"You guess?"

"Well, I write, okay? And it's not _Hogwarts: A History_, it's actually just a spellbound cover," she admitted.

The sun was beginning to set, and whenever they spoke, smoke would appear out of their mouths. Rose began to button her coat and wrap her scarf tighter around her body.

"Cold?" Scorpius asked as he took a seat next to the rock.

Rose, who didn't want to elevate herself in a sitting position above a person she had just met, sat down next to him on the grass.

"You shouldn't be the one to speak after just swimming," she remarked, staring at his silver blonde hair that was drying in the wind. He was now dressed in a black long-sleeved turtleneck that lengthened his skinny frame, and an evergreen jumper was tied around his neck in a makeshift scarf.

"It keeps my mind off things, just like how writing keeps things off yours, right?" He stole a glance at her, as she was looking at the sunset across the lake.

"How do you know that?" she murmured, entranced by the setting rays of the sun, which cast a pink hue amongst the dark clouds, turning the menacing gray into a softer, more melancholy deep lavender.

"I just do. So what do you write about?" he ventured to ask. She seemed gentler at seven in the evening. There was no Gryffindor rage and righteousness in her eyes that you so commonly saw at school if someone was blocking her way to a class, or if a group of fourth years were bullying a first year. She would usually be the one to speak out against any injustices. (Yes, she had also inherited her mother's passion for SPEW).

"Everything, really. Lately, I've been forgetting how to write."

"You can't forget how to write. Do you need an alphabet sheet?" he mocked her. Her blue eyes turned on him and narrowed into a glare. Surprisingly, the light freckles added a touch of menace.

"I meant in that I forgot how to write well. As in crafting stories. Restating autobiographical incidents. Everything has just been so dull," she eventually sighed, after she glared at him for a good two seconds and returned her gaze to the sunset.

"Well, I'm sure you're a fantastic writer, Rose. You just have to think of the right things to write about."

"Like what…? What would possibly be so magnificent that I, Rose Weasley, must capture it within my words?" she laughed, and her laughter was freeing and wild to his ears. It bristled his skin as the wind rustled the grass.

"For starters, you can write about how amazing I am." As soon as he said that, he caught her unamused face and dared to smirk a little wider. It was fun to push her buttons.

"Joking, Rose, completely joking," he laughed as she rolled her eyes. After a moment of thought, he said, "Love's always a good topic to write about."

"What do you know about love, Scorpius?" she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "You always have so many girls after you, it must be hard falling in love with them all at once, is it not?" She flipped her hair over on the right side of her shoulder again, creating a right part. Scorpius noticed that she does this quite frequently, especially when she reads in class (it was quite hard to avoid your eyes off a person who has not only long, but fiery reddish hair who happens to sit in front of you).

"I know that it's a good topic to write about," he looked at her disbelieving stare.

"Wow, I can't believe I'm actually talking to Scorpius Malfoy, playboy extraordinaire, about _not only the topic of love_, but writing _about love_," she let out an amused laugh.

"Playboy extraordinaire… You wound me, Rose," Scorpius playfully clutched his chest as Rose smirked and tossed her hair behind her shoulder.

"I'm serious though, it is a good topic to write about. Except I've never been in love before, so I just make up flowery language and shite about what it must feel like," he continued, honestly. Scorpius did like to write, sometimes little drabbles on leftover parchment, and loose-leaf letters that he tore from a notebook. After all, men do _not _write in journals or diaries, or any records that safekeep their emotions. They write on pieces of paper that can easily be torn out, discarded, or even burned - well at least in Scorpius' case.

Rose gave him that disbelieving stare again and began to pick at the grass. "Well, it's nothing special really. It just causes you a lot of pain in the long run, but it's a nice feeling to experience," she admitted. She had picked up a small wildflower and began playing with its petals.

"I mean, everyone has to experience pain somewhat, though, right?"

There was a good minute of silence between the two as Rose proceeded on ripping the petals out of the flower.

"So, what happened between you and him?" Scorpius asked, extending his legs and lying down on the grass. Rose did the same and they both stared at the sky, whose colors were quickly shifting, like a watercolor being mixed.

"Me and who?"

"You and Nathaniel, of course."

"We were in love for a year or so, I guess. He has this on and off depressed condition, and I guess I only made it worse for him. He joined the new performing dance group, and I guess he grew to fancy the pants off their fifth year president, Wendy Watson. Before I knew it, a month after we broke up and I was moping around in corridors, they were secretly dating and went public after I found out," her voice broke a little at the end, and she refused to tear her eyes away from the sky even when Scorpius sat up to make sure she was alright.

"You alright, Rose?"

A moment of silence passed as she hoisted herself off the ground. "Yeah, it's silly. It's a year and a half ago, I should probably get over it and stop sobbing every time I tell—"

"No! Stop. I'm sorry for asking and invading your privacy," he put a hand on her shoulder. She glanced up at him with a small smile.

"It's alright, trust me."

"Well, since I unintentionally made you shed some tears…would you…I mean," Scorpius stumbled on his words. This was a first. Rose cocked her eyebrow in the same manner she did an hour ago when he came up to her.

"Yes…?"

"I'd just like to ask you to…let me take you out for a drink at Hogsmeade. Compensation for the tears you lost," he tilted his head meekly. Scorpius' Malfoy signature smirk, for the first time in forever, was nowhere to be found when asking a girl out. Rose smirked widely.

"That would be a pleasure, Scorpius."

She stood there, as if she was waiting expectantly for something. A slight drizzle began to fall on them. After another minute or so, he asked, "Shall we walk back to the castle?"

She shook her head. "I was thinking, have you ever ran through the woods during a storm before?"

He shook his head.

"It's magical," she grabbed his arm and her parasol, her red hair wildly flying behind her. They let out whoop's and shrieks as they avoided colliding into tree roots, branches, and obscure shrubs.

This was the happiest Scorpius had been in awhile, being dragged by a Weasley through the Forbidden Forest at night, her hair shining like a beacon of light and his sweater flopping on his shoulders like a child's Superman cape.

When they were finally a couple hundred feet from breaking out of the foliage, he yelled at her, "You better write about this, Rose!"

"I will!"

**_The End_**

_(may or may not be followed by another one-shot sequel)_


End file.
